Last Acts
by Loco the Exclaimer
Summary: Armada. With a gun to his chassis, whatever Hot Shot does now will probably be the last thing he ever does. And he knows exactly what he wants that thing to be. Wheeljack x Hot Shot, oneshot.


**Last Acts**

_Wheeljack/Hot Shot; 30_breathtakes #15 – "__amazing kiss__"_

Loco the Exclaimer

X.x.X.x.X

It was the middle of the night. Everyone in the base was sleeping soundly, resting for the next day, which would likely be as troublesome as the days before. Hot Shot was particularly exhausted, so the sound of footsteps didn't manage to wake him.

As a matter of fact, despite the presence in his quarters, he stayed asleep even as another mech came right up to his berth. The most he did was shift under the gaze and mumble something incoherent sleepily. The newcomer scoffed at Hot Shot's carelessness.

"Hot Shot. Wake up."

Hot Shot powered his optics on in the darkness, blinking a few times as he got adjusted to the lack of light. His sight fell on the form beside his berth and he jumped slightly, startled. "Wheeljack?"

"Good morning." His target now awake, Wheeljack drew one of his long guns. His tone as he spoke was humorless and cold.

The Autobot briefly considered reaching for his own weapons, but there was no way he'd be able to snatch them off the table before Wheeljack shot him. Instead, he watched the black mech warily. "Morning. You're up early. I usually get up before you."

Wheeljack snorted. "You used to."

"What? Have you started actually hauling your aft out of berth in the morning?" It was an attempt at making a joke, but it fell flat in the stiff tension in the air. The black mech gave a chuckle, but it was hollow and humorless.

Finally, Hot Shot sighed sadly. "I suppose I can guess why you're here."

The only response at first was the gun being raised and pressed against his chassis. The metal was cold, as the gun hadn't yet been charged.

It seemed so strange, seeing the mech he had once loved so much now as a Decepticon. Hell, he still loved him – even if the most Wheeljack would ever have to do with him was this, a loaded gun pointed directly at his spark. And he wouldn't miss this time. That was a warning shot. This was a death threat.

"So you're going to kill me this time?" Hot Shot asked, not bothering to try to pull away. Wheeljack snorted.

"That's the general idea." The gun began to charge, warmth slowly forming. Fear flickered across Hot Shot's faceplate briefly, but it was gone so quickly that Wheeljack couldn't be sure he hadn't just been seeing things.

Hot Shot, for his part, was wishing he could at least say his goodbyes. But then again, there were a lot of things he still wanted to do. And less than five minutes wasn't a lot of time to do it all in.

"So whatever I do now is going to be the last thing I ever do?" The Autobot said, and Wheeljack wasn't quite sure whether it was meant as a question or a statement.

"Yes." He decided to answer. The gun had finished charging, but he waited a moment, curious to see what his former mentor would do.

Maybe he should have pulled the trigger.

Hot Shot pushed the gun aside and pulled himself to his peds, climbing off of the berth and standing in front of the black mech. He then leaned forward and captured Wheeljack's mouth in a kiss.

For several seconds, Wheeljack stood in shock, so startled that he dropped his weapon to the floor. Hot Shot hesitantly rested his hands on his chassis; almost without realizing it, he returned the gesture by putting his arms around Hot Shot's waist.

They stood there with their maxillae pressed together for what seemed like entirely too short of a time. Wheeljack broke the kiss but, to Hot Shot's surprise, didn't pull away.

"Wheeljack…" He breathed, their maxillae still brushing together as he spoke. "I…"

Another several seconds, these spent in a comfortable, all-consuming silence. Hot Shot risked giving the other mech another kiss, which was returned without hesitation. But all too soon, Wheeljack realized what he was doing and jerked away.

"Wait… Wheeljack…" Hot Shot tried to say, but his former student cut him off.

"I should be going." Wheeljack stepped back, kneeling briefly to retrieve his gun. He then turned away, refusing to look at Hot Shot.

"Wait – I thought you were going to kill me." Now he sounded more confused than anything.

"You want me to?" He glanced over at Hot Shot briefly; the answer was a quick shake of the helm. He raised an optic ridge. "I thought not."

With that, he turned and strode out the door. Hot Shot watched him go without another word, sadness replaced by hope. Something was still there. Wheeljack would deny it, but it was. Maybe somehow, someday, he could forgive the yellow Autobot. Maybe someday, Hot Shot could forgive himself.

Until then, he always had tonight.


End file.
